“I had a bad feeling about this, and of course, you had to go and cause trouble. We’re already swamped with a backlog of work, and now you’ve moved up the Unity Games? What are we supposed to do? Ever since you stepped into the light, hyungnim, there’s been no end to the incidents. I should have opposed the idea of creating the Swallow Guild when you first mentioned it.”
To hear him talk, you’d think it was nothing but a string of complaints, yet his face was all smiles. Sa-yoon, only half-listening to Gyeongjin—who had clearly been revitalized by a hefty bonus—lay on the sofa and replayed the conversation from the Association in his mind.
So it was Rian of all people.
She was the easygoing type, someone who hated getting involved in gossip. She had a stubborn streak and wouldn’t be moved by just anything. What could have possibly provoked her?
When a quiet person speaks up, there’s always a clear reason. Something he didn’t know had definitely happened, and it was time to find out what.
His mind made up, he shot up from his reclining position, startling Geon-joo, who was reading a book. The weight that had been pressing on his lap vanished, and a curious gaze met his. Sa-yoon habitually ran a hand through the man’s hair, tousling it slightly, before turning to Gyeongjin.
“Han Gyeongjin.”
“I’m busy. Make it quick.”
“When are you going to tell me what you haven’t been reporting?”
At the blunt question, Gyeongjin clicked his tongue.
“What do you mean, ‘haven’t’? I told you everything that day. Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Gyeongjin.”
“……?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“…”
The words were like a taut rubber band being stretched to its limit. Thump. Han Gyeongjin’s busy hands froze in mid-air. Sa-yoon, who had no intention of tiring him out, didn’t raise his voice or release his aura. Instead, he gave him a chance.
“I think it’s about time I heard it.”
A chance for the Night Rat executives to willingly bring out the information they had been hiding.
Honestly, wasn’t it strange? The almost bizarrely hostile attitude of the Noah members, the severely skewed public opinion—no matter how you accounted for the one-year absence and the malicious rumors—the suspicious movements of the overseas guilds, and his executives’ separation anxiety. It all felt connected to a single piece of information he was missing. Such premonitions were rarely wrong, so now he needed confirmation.
As he stared, the man who had been silently meeting his gaze let out a deep sigh.
It was a sign of surrender.
“…Who told you?”
Gyeongjin massaged his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Was it Yen? Or Jongsik hyungnim?” he muttered, trying to deduce who might have leaked the information.
“Do you think someone had to tell me? How long do you think I’ve been doing this?”
Sa-yoon’s light, laughing response eased the tension in the room. Gyeongjin tossed his glasses aside and wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand. His eyes darted back and forth as he considered how to begin, how to organize his thoughts. It wasn’t long before his gaze settled on Sa-yoon.
“…We’ve been trying to handle it all so it wouldn’t reach you, hyungnim, but some ridiculous rumors were going around.”
“What, that I skipped town and went overseas?”
“No.”
“Then what? That I died?”
“Yes.”
His joking question was met with a dead-serious answer. The single word, delivered without a hint of hesitation, made Sa-yoon’s hand, which had been stroking Geon-joo’s hair, freeze. He turned his body to face Han Gyeongjin, whose expression was grave. This was no joke.
“Judging by your reaction, it wasn’t just a simple rumor that I died.”
“It was half a rumor. But your body was found, hyungnim.”
“What?”
A body?
I’m alive. Why would a body turn up?
The scale of this false rumor was bigger than he’d thought. He narrowed his eyes, and Gyeongjin held up his phone, saying he had proof. He navigated to his gallery, and after a moment of searching, he showed Sa-yoon a photo. It was a picture of a man who looked exactly like him, lying on the ground.
“And this video was released along with it.”
Gyeongjin swiped his thumb, and a video thumbnail appeared.
“What’s this now?”
“See for yourself.”
As if to say watching it would be faster than explaining, Gyeongjin pressed play. The video showed the dead Sa-yoon’s body twitching a few times before it began to swell like a balloon, transforming into a giant, white creature.
“Weird, right? That’s why I said it was a rumor.”
Gyeongjin added his explanation, but Sa-yoon had to fight to keep his focus from wavering.
Why is this…
He barely managed to keep his lips from parting, to keep his shock from showing, and bit the inside of his cheek. The video was bizarre yet familiar. The scene of his corpse swelling and changing into an inhuman species. That was the truth of the Unknown, the very thing he had witnessed in the ‘True Evil of Humanity?’ gate.
Gyeongjin, completely unaware of this fact, continued his confused explanation.
“It was filmed with a video stone inside a gate. The person who uploaded it claimed you died and became an Unknown, but since Unknowns were discovered even when you were active with Noah, it was quickly dismissed as a fabrication. But there are no signs of manipulation in the video. Naturally, all hell broke loose. The idea of you and an Unknown being the same person is absurd, but it’s understandable why people were confused. So, it was chaotic for a while.”
The longer his explanation went on, the deeper Sa-yoon sank into thought.
How could that video have possibly gotten out?
Was the scene he had witnessed in the ‘True Evil of Humanity?’ gate being replayed in other gates? If so, if that were the case…
“We know, don’t we? Whether that’s your real body or not. But to my eyes, that looks like you, hyungnim.”
Gyeongjin’s voice sounded slow, distant. Dong, dong, dong. A sound like a grandfather clock chiming echoed in his ears. A chilling premonition washed over him, and the sounds of his surroundings faded away. Blood rushed to his head. A numbness spread through his hands and feet, and he bit his lip, involuntarily replaying everything he had seen in the ‘True Evil of Humanity?’ gate.
The death of my parents, the death of the man who helped me, the regression, the forced execution, the mental manipulation, the Unknown…
Dong, dong, dong.
The chiming sounded like a trumpet call. It was a moment where his body felt like it was sinking deep into a swamp.
“Hyung.”
A voice pierced through his reverie.
“Are you okay?”
Sensing something was wrong, Geon-joo grabbed Sa-yoon’s wrist, his eyes completely drawn away from the book he was reading. The downward pull was weak. Sa-yoon met his worried gaze and clung to his sanity.
“Hyung, your breathing is off. Think about gathering your breath below your navel, then inhale deeply and exhale.”
He pulled Sa-yoon close, whispering so softly that Gyeongjin couldn’t hear, and began to count. Sa-yoon took a deep breath and released it slowly. The chiming that had urged on his confusion faded. As he drew in another breath, the chaotic thoughts that had swarmed his mind like a dark cloud gradually receded. With the exhale, clarity returned. He felt dazed, as if he had been bewitched and had just now come to his senses.
“Are you okay now?”
He must have seen the same video, yet Han Geon-joo showed nothing but concern, as if nothing else mattered. It felt like proof that his well-being was Geon-joo’s top priority. Sa-yoon nodded. A sense of stability filled the void left by his retreating thoughts.
How absurd.
To think he was getting this kind of help from a kid so much younger than him. Sa-yoon met his dark eyes, stroked his hair again, and replayed the paused video from the beginning. He scanned every corner of the footage, his eyes darting back and forth, but he couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Just as Gyeongjin had said, it was a clean video with no trace of manipulation.
Gyeongjin, who had noticed Sa-yoon’s strange state, glanced between him and Geon-joo before speaking.
“That’s why we were so shocked when we saw you. Honestly, we thought you were half-dead. The reason public opinion turned so sour and those overseas bastards got bold enough to spread rumors about you was because of this. It’s better now that everyone knows you’re alive and well, but…”
His voice trailed off as he took back his phone and slumped against the back of the chair.
“What do you think that video is?” Gyeongjin muttered, asking for Sa-yoon’s opinion. It certainly wasn’t fake, but hyungnim was alive. He didn’t know how it was possible or why it was found inside a gate.
“If I knew, would I have asked you what it was?”
Sa-yoon retorted nonchalantly, tearing his eyes away from Gyeongjin’s phone and calling upon the system internally. He had no way of figuring this out on his own and needed the help of the God of Wisdom, but as usual, they were unresponsive when he needed them.
What kind of bullshit are the main gods up to now?
Vmm, vmm.
Just then, as Sa-yoon’s fingers tapped against the armrest of the sofa, his phone and Geon-joo’s rang simultaneously.
He glanced at it absently and saw a text message informing him that Noah’s training for the rescheduled Unity Games would begin, and he should keep his schedule clear two days from now.
“‘Training,’ my ass.”
It had been ages since he’d received anything like that. He muttered with a dry laugh and turned his head toward Gyeongjin.
“That gate where the video was filmed, where is it?”
“I don’t know. But the speculation is that it’s an uncleared gate in Hong Kong. The person who uploaded the video said they barely made it back using a return stone.”
“Where’s the person who uploaded it now?”
“Dead.”
“What?”
“He died from a seizure not long after coming out of the gate.”
A suspicious turn of events. It seemed there was a lot being hidden. As he wore an unsettled expression, his phone vibrated once more.
[The location for the Unity Games joint training will be the uncleared gate in Hong Kong, ‘The Forgotten Temple.’]
“Well, now…”
A laugh burst out of him involuntarily as he read the message. He grabbed Geon-joo’s hand.
“What a convenient coincidence.”
He felt like he had been drawn onto a game board.
A massive, silent game board that had been laid out without anyone’s knowledge. Sa-yoon’s brow furrowed in displeasure.